Breanne Erickson's "The Night Before Christmas"

A few years ago Breanne graced us with her own version of "The Night Before Christmas".  It's time we dusted it off and pulled it back out into the light of the Christmas tree!  Merry Christmas!

 

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse.

Breanne was sitting, silent in her chair

Tied up naked, a bow in her hair.

A tight cloth gag had been placed through her lips

And a large pink vibrator was buried between her hips.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter

Breanne pulled on her bonds, wondering what was the matter.

“Had Santa finally arrived?” She thought.

“When would begin the sexual onslaught?”

In some houses it was custom to leave milk and cookies.

But in this quiet house it was sexual nookies.

Bre had been left by the fire tied and gagged

A sweet Christmas treat for Santa to shag.

The moon on the breast of the tied up sweet

Was creamy and light with promise complete.

And then in a twinkling there was noise on the roof

Of a large red sleigh and sixteen hoof.

As she twisted and turned, looking around

Down the chimney, St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in red, garnished in white

Indeed to Breanne he was quite a sight!

His eyes were dark, like chocolate or night

And his cheeks were ruddy, like fire light.

On his back was a bundle, a bag, or a sack

That was filled with the usual old knickknack.

He turned as he landed, all sprightly and quick,

And saw the bound girl, did old St. Nick.

“Well well, I’ll be.” Said Santa with pleasure

This sure beats cookies, carrots, even treasure!

He reached out a hand to give a little pinch

To Breanne's nipple.  It was a cinch!

She moaned at his touch, the vibrator humming

St. Nick’s hands caressed slowly strumming.

He was unusually adept, lifting her up

Bending her over so she was bottoms up.

The large silver buckle came loose in a flash

And the black belt swung in a large heavy slash

To strike Breanne’s bottom with a terrible blow

She gasped as the tears began to flow

Santa it seemed, did not really care

And let loose with his belt on her poor derriere

Until she was red all over the her butt

And Santa knew she was ready, the slut!

He knelt down behind her and pulled out the plug

That was buzzing and shaking inside tight and snug.

He tossed it aside and dropped his pants

And pulled out his cock for a quick little dance.

Breanne groaned out loud as he drove himself deep

Pushing and thrusting in one fell sweep.

And then St. Nick groaned as he came in her guts

Spewing and throbbing as he emptied his nuts

In moments it was over and he stood up quick

Pulled up his pants and covered his stick.

He picked up the sex toy with a laugh and a grin

Positioned it perfectly and sank it within.

With a twist of his fingers the buzzing increased

Within Bre’s well which was thoroughly greased.

He set her back down on the seat with care

And pulled silver clamps from his pocket – a pair!

As Breanne moaned in sexual torment

The cruel bite of clamps on her nipples was spent.

Santa, the resourceful elf that he was

Pulled some rope from his pocket along with some fuzz.

Loops around knees and ankles and chair

Resulted in Breanne’s exposure down there.

Santa, with a wink, pulled out a small clip

And bent with delight to her small pouting lips

Breanne squealed loud as the clamp closed and bit

The tenderest nub, her swollen wet clit.

Santa, he laughed, at her tough situation

Sexually tormented and filled with frustration.

To be left tied and stuffed until Christmas morn

Her body, orgasming hard until it was worn.

“Breanne” Santa said. “I’ve had a delightful time.”

“Much better than cookies and milk on a dime!”

“So I will leave you now all trussed up and presented

As a gift from me who you’ve left contented.”

He moved to his sack and pulled out a box

With Breanne’s name in black letter blocks

“This is my present to a naughty pain slut

Who gave Santa a chance to spank a cute little butt.”

“Inside you’ll find everything on your list.

Clamps, the handcuffs, even a dildo with a twist”

Breanne looked on wide eyed as he moved away

As he prepared to head up, back to his sleigh.

She twisted and moaned, in orgasmic bliss

As he gave her a wink and a soft blown kiss.

And then he was gone, up the chimney he rose

By laying a finger aside his nose

In his wake, lit by Christmas tree light

Was Breanne, the slut, in sexual plight.

The clock on the mantle showed a quarter to three.

Only five more hours until she’d be freed.

Five hours more of vibrations and cumming

Tears sprang to her eyes it was so mind numbing.

And up on the rooftop she heard a shrill whistle,

The crack of a whip and a laugh filled with gristle.

But she heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight

“Merry Christmas Breanne.  Geeze you were tight!”

The Knotted Rope

This morning I received approximately 60 pages of manuscript from Breanne, all of it concerning last weekend's "Abuse Breanne's Pussy Party."  And while we will not be posting it here on the blog since it will be included in Breanne's "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 11" (Ten is already complete and we're just editing now,) there was one little section that I thought was so amazing that I want to share it.  So enjoy.  - MA

So I took a breath and another step.

The rope was just a little thicker than my thumb and piss poor quality.  Strands peeled off, essentially making the entire length into a brush that scoured and grated my pussy.  I made it to the first knot with two baby steps and another cane stroke that wasn’t quite as bad as the first two.  My clit hit that knot and I felt the awful texture of the rope grab hold of my clit and seemingly pull it down under me as I tried to go over it.  Then there was this sort of half erotic, half agonizing pop as my clit was abraded and the knot slipped down through my petals.  I’d of course ripened, my body’s natural defenses against such personal calamity.  Gushing goo, the knot slid down through my open flower, soaking up fluid and scratching tiny red lines across the inside folds of my labia.  

Walking a knotted rope is a tri-part experience.  The first, which I’ve described above, is what I like to refer to as “the clitoral impact” or “humping the hedgehog.”  Clitoral Impact is where the knot first hits your clit. You feel the pressure and work up the courage to rise up as high as you can on tip toe, your calves burning and your toes aching, knowing that it’s all pointless anyway.  The knot presses at your clit and you feel how rough it is, like a cat’s tongue or a splintery wooden board.  And then, despite every instinct screaming “get the fuck off the rope!” you push forward.  Your clit doesn’t just rub against it.  It get’s snagged, the soft flesh pulled downward and under as the knot works its way into the opening rift of your sex.  The knot moves past and while the rope still excoriates that little nub, it slips back into position, waiting for the next knot to strike it.  But the really horrible part is that if you get aroused, wet and wanting, if you suddenly feel the urge, you start to thrust your hips at the knot, letting it strike your clit over and over before you finally “hump the hedgehog”, crushing your clit against it before you even try to ride the swell.

The second part is what I like to call “the pop.”  The knot slides through your petals, and if you aren’t hurting too much from having your clit practically ripped off, then this is where a massive bulge in the two thin lines of burning heat blossoms to score the entire width of each fold of your labia.  Then the line dips and the knot literally pops into the opening of your vaginal tract.  The knot actually goes in deep enough that for a moment, you think you’re about to get fucked and your body opens up, preparing for the penetration.  It’s just a response, a physical instinct triggered by the pressure. But no, it’s just the knot, and while it’s there it does this little round swirl to tenderize your opening just enough to torment you.  Then it moves on.

The third part begins with the excruciating passage of the knot over your perineum, which has already been severely scratched from the rope.  It’s the lowest point on your body and technically is taking the most strain.  This part of you is also horribly sensitive, tender, and it’s what is really making you wince.  You hurry, past this, knowing that speed won’t help but since it’s your body in charge, and not your brain, it doesn’t matter.  The knot then dips again, but it’s not this popping sensation.  It’s just a dip, but since that dip is actually your bottom, it’s like wiping your butt with a dry luffa sponge. (Don’t try that by the way. It’s not pleasant.)  The knot sits there for a moment because you pause.  You’re past the perineum and you’re privately saying “thank God!” but you know that you still have the tender crack of your ass to go.  So you have to gather enough energy to get the last bit over. So despite the fact that you are literally sitting on the knot, letting it dig its way a little into your ass, you finally move and let it scour its path through your buttocks until you are free and clear, only another four inches away from another knot.

Now, try doing that with a madman smacking your ass and tits with a cane in order to keep you steadily moving.  One of these days I’m going to walk a knotted rope that is smooth, thin, and soft, while those watching let me take my fucking time.

Breanne Erickson is the author of the wildly popular BDSM series "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut."  Check out her amazing work at Michael Alexander Stories!

The Little School Girl: Saturday Detention by Michael Alexander

Did you enjoy Michael Alexander's recent tale, "The Little School Girl: Summer"?  If you did then here is a real treat!  Michael has finished and posted a prequel of sorts entitled "The Little School Girl: Saturday Detention."  Here's a tiny excerpt but you can find the entire thing at Michael Alexander Stories, right now!  Check it out!

The little school girl was only marginally surprised to discover that she wasn’t the only student who had been ordered to report to the Principal’s office that warm Saturday morning. A bench with several seats sat along the opposite wall from his office, occupied by two girls. She recognized Ann immediately; a popular sophomore whose small, shy smile was enough to make hearts melt.  Ann wore a pleasant summer dress; white with little blue flowers that went well with her shoulder length brown hair.  The bosom of the dress was elastic and pulled tight, emphasizing Ann’s impressive bust. The little school girl suppressed a moment’s jealousy as she admired the large curves that Ann’s dress framed well.  The little school girl’s own bosom was nothing compared to Ann’s and she felt the lack acutely.  It was like comparing apples to cantaloupes. 

Sitting two chairs further down was Liz, a spitfire of a girl with a bad attitude and enough black eyeliner on to qualify for her own line of cosmetic products.  Her sable colored hair obviously came from a bottle, the dark locks going well with the punk rocker - Goth look Liz was going for.  A silver ring flashed at Liz’s nostril, with a matching piece of hardware in her lip.  There were odd little bumps where the tips of her breasts pressed against her shirt.  The little school girl’s eyes widened as she took in Liz’s ripped fishnet stockings, a black leather skirt, the combat boots with green neon laces, and the loose and half torn tee-shirt that hung off of one shoulder, sporting the words “bad to your boner” between the outlines of the pierced nipples.  The meaning couldn’t have been clearer.

Read Michael Alexander's 

"The Little School Girl: Saturday Detention" NOW!

Jeans That Rock Sex

Well, in all fairness, I have no idea how these jeans fit, except when they're tugged down and showing all the right amount of skin.  But I'll leave it to my readers to tell me if these jeans aren't the sexiest things you've seen in awhile! Go Alexander Wang! Brilliant.